Try, Try Again
by caeli1701
Summary: [One-shot] Jimmy attempts seduction in the face of competition.


Based on a hilarious prompt by Flippyspoon 3

**Note:**This is a short-ish one shot I wrote a few months ago as a writing exercise, and it's mostly been sitting in my drafts, ignored, (though I've played with it here and there, trying to decide if it should see the light of day or not). When I told Kay about it she encouraged me to post it, and I accidentally promised her I would do it today haha. Hope you like this, inkandheartache :)

* * *

There were workmen at Downton: dirty, muscular, sweaty in the noonday sun.

They were meant to be doing masonry and landscaping work in the garden, as far as Jimmy knew. The maids were all a flutter over them, slowing down their footsteps as they passed the windows so they could catch a glimpse of the big men with their big tools. Sometimes one of the men would wink and tip his cap to the female staff, which would catapult the younger girls into a flurry of excitement and hilarity. Mrs. Hughes had already scolded them twice for their misbehavior.

Jimmy didn't quite understand the appeal himself. Men like Rudolf Valentino, sleek and clean and elegant in a suit, were far closer to his ideal of manhood than those coarse workmen ever could be. But though Jimmy didn't much care for the chaos outdoors or the silliness of the girls— it wasn't troublesome to him either. He had far more weighty matters to dwell on these days— matters of the heart— so he didn't pay the workmen or the girls's admiration much mind at first.

Until he noticed Thomas looking, too.

Of course Thomas was a bit subtler than the maids, but he were still very obvious in his appreciation. Jimmy hated it. He hated the glances Thomas sent their way whenever they were out of doors, hated to find him lingering by windows— just like the bloody maids!— or that his habit of smoking outside seemed to have increased in frequency and duration.

Thomas's admiration of the men was terrible enough on its own, of course, but it was made doubly horrifying to Jimmy the day he noticed at least one of the men were admiring Thomas in return. He were sandy-haired and bronze-skinned and bigger than Jimmy, and his teeth stood out brilliant-white when he smiled. Which he did a lot. At _Thomas_.

Jimmy had never hated anyone so much in his entire life,—which, for him, was saying something.

For days he attempted to ignore the smiles, and the way Thomas would narrow his eyes at the workman— he'd even caught them talking over the garden wall once or twice— but eventually his resistance crumbled and he asked Thomas about it one evening after dinner. He tried to sound as if he were only innocently curious and nothing more, but he was sure he didn't succeed by the way Thomas shifted at his questioning and avoided answering. Jimmy, however, would not be put off.

Finally Thomas took a long drag off his cigarette and waved his hand dismissively, releasing a cloud of smoke into the summer night with a sound of frustration.

"So?" he said at last. "They're handsome like that: bit rough and tumble—" he coughed. "No harm in looking, is there? Nothing's going to come of it, anyhow."

Jimmy fought to remain calm. "But how do you know nothing will come of it?"

Vivid pictures of Thomas pushed up against a tree or hidden in an alcove with that dirty workman, kissing and touching, assaulted Jimmy's imagination. And then of course they might fall in_ love_, might run away together—

Jimmy snapped his own cigarette in half accidentally, just at the thought.

Thomas gave him a sideways look, and irrationally Jimmy feared Thomas could read his mind.

"I just know," Thomas said. When Jimmy started to protest further Thomas sighed and added, "I've learned me lesson, haven't I?" And it wasn't accusatory— it was only like he were stating an unalterable fact about the world, and was resigned to it— but that made it even worse in Jimmy's mind, and felt like a punch to the gut.

For almost a year now he'd known he were like Thomas, and that he loved him. He'd been trying to gather the courage to go to him ever since, and he'd almost been ready! He'd almost felt brave enough but then…

But then that horrible, sodding, dirty, sweating, half-dressed, no-good bloody simple _laborer_ had come to Downton. Jimmy hated him.

And what was even worse— the terrible flirt had exacerbated all those fears Jimmy had been trying so hard to overcome— namely, the issue of desire: Jimmy feared Thomas no longer wanted him. It had been a very long time since Thomas had sacrificed himself for Jimmy at the fair, and even longer than that since he'd made advances, touched him, given him those heated looks. He and Thomas were friends now, and Thomas knew him better than anyone and saw him every day over the breakfast table. Perhaps so much familiarity had killed Thomas's ardor and affections, and though he no doubt cared deeply for Jimmy he may no longer find him appealing as a lover.

This kept Jimmy up nights. More, now, that that bloody laborer was prancing about the grounds with his hammer and smiling at Thomas.

On the other hand… Jimmy had long suspected Thomas might be just the sort of romantic fool who'd hold onto a hopeless love for years, for his whole life, maybe. If this were so Jimmy might still have a chance. It were terrible selfish of him and he knew it, but he prayed fervently that Thomas was exactly that sort of fool.

If he could only know for certain, somehow, he'd confess everything.

But it turned out Jimmy Kent— a man who'd bet his entire life's saving on a single hand of cards—wasn't brave enough to take the first step with Thomas Barrow, not without certainty of success. Because Jimmy wasn't brave at all.

He was a coward.

Jimmy stifled the thought— as he often did in Thomas's presence— and tried to make light of the conversation. He didn't want Thomas to brood in melancholy thoughts, be they about his situation in the world or even longing for that damn dirty workman.

"First the maids and now you," he said playfully, nudging Thomas's shoulder with his own. "I don't much see the appeal, me."

He was going to go on and mention how filthy the workers were, how coarse, perhaps make fun of the way they talked to amuse Thomas, but before he could Thomas rolled his eyes and said "Well, you wouldn't, would you?"

Jimmy couldn't say anything back.

Eventually Thomas muttered that it were time to go back inside. Jimmy managed something vague in agreement and trailed after him, feeling defeated and like he wanted to fight, all at the same time.

* * *

In the night Jimmy must have dreamed, though he didn't remember it. When he opened his eyes the next morning his heartache from the night before had been dulled by the edges of sleep, and in its place a single thought had formed in his mind, as clear and vivid as if it had been carved there.

All he had to do was draw Thomas's attention away from the workmen— and that smiley one in particular— and focus it back onto himself.

He had to seduce Thomas. On purpose, this time.

And when Thomas gave him a sign, or lost his head again, Jimmy would know for certain of his love and it would free him from all responsibility of action, and all questions of bravery or cowardice. All he'd have to do is accept Thomas's advances, and reciprocate.

Which he would. Gladly. It would be a second chance for both of them. After all, Thomas had been in love with him once… surely Jimmy could find some way to make him do it again.

The trouble was Jimmy had no idea how he'd done it the first time, although he supposed his beauty and wit had something to do with it. Women were always falling for him left right and center without him having to do a thing to encourage them. Thomas had fell for his pretty face once, too. But now, Thomas saw him every day and didn't appear to be affected, not anymore. But why? Was it that Thomas concealed his feelings for the sake of friendship, or was it that there was no longer anything to conceal?

And given either scenario: how could Jimmy make himself attractive to Thomas, if he didn't know what he found desirable? It wasn't as if there were films and magazine articles about these things, and Thomas never spoke about them to Jimmy, not the way other chaps talked about girls with their mates. Of course Thomas wouldn't. And he'd been very careful: over the years there'd only been one accidental comment about _Tarzan_ of all things, but— oh.

_Ohhhhh._

The workmen, strong and manly and dirty in the sun.

Tarzan, half-dressed and wild, swinging around in trees without much on.

Rough and tumble.

Jimmy had an idea.

* * *

Thankfully the following day were Jimmy's half-day, so he didn't have to wait long to put his plan into action. Nerves made him giddy, but he forced himself to focus.

As soon as he were able he dressed in his everyday clothing, taking care to leave his hair loose and untamed under his cap, and then he slipped outside with no one the wiser.

He let his anticipation carry him through the half-finished garden— blatantly ignoring the overly-smiley workman's ridiculous attempt to rope him into conversation as he passed. Not likely, you bastard, Jimmy thought as he shot a sour glance his way.

Gratefully he left the workman, and Downton, behind, and exchanged the sunlit grounds for the cool shade of the trees.

He walked for a good long while, breathing in the clean, fragrant summer air.

Once he were certain he were out of sight of the house and the road, Jimmy stopped walking and rolled up his sleeves. Deliberately he mussed his hair and clothing. Then he scooped up a handful of damp earth from the forest floor and smeared it into his hands and arms and ground the rest of it into his suit, making sure to leave streaks and stains.

If the dirt didn't come out in the wash later then so be it— he could always buy another suit. There were only one Thomas Barrow.

With a faint grimace Jimmy took more dirt and delicately patted it onto his face and neck, undoing his collar, shirt, and tie to leave a sliver of his collarbone artfully exposed. He streaked some dirt there, too, feeling grimly that he must go all the way with this plan if he wanted Thomas's love at the end of it. He only had to take heed Carson didn't spot him like this.

He didn't have a mirror with him but he imagined his work were almost complete. Taking a deep breath, he started doing exercises like he'd done in training, star-jumps and press-ups and the like, running in place between sets. He had to be sweaty and gleaming with it, too, as much as he disliked the feeling.

Half-way through his efforts he fervently wished he'd thought to bring a flask of water to douse himself with— it would've been far more pleasant (and far less pungent) than real sweat. Jimmy stopped, winded, and pressed a hand to the stitch in his side.

Well, no plan was perfect. Best get on with it.

He lay down on the forest floor and rolled himself around in the leaves and dirt, red-faced even though he was alone. He wanted to look manly and 'rough and tumble' like Tarzan, like that smug workman with the white teeth.

There, he thought at last. That should do it.

Jimmy checked his pocket watch— a gift from Thomas himself— and realized if he hurried he could make it back in time for Thomas's usual afternoon smoke in the courtyard.

Breathless and wincing at the pain in his side, Jimmy jogged out of the woods and back across the grounds, again ignoring the workman's greeting (more hesitant this time) as he passed.

He swept into the courtyard just as Thomas stepped outside, unlit cigarette in his mouth.

"Jimmy?"

Thomas's eyes went wide. He looked astonished. Jimmy grinned, triumphant. Just having Thomas look at him made him feel warm and good.

Thomas removed the cigarette from his mouth and started toward him. "What's happened to you?"

Jimmy's smile faltered. "What?"

"How in hell did you get like this?" Thomas reached up and brushed a leaf from Jimmy's shoulder, his brow furrowed. "Are you alright?"

Jimmy gaped at him.

He hadn't… he hadn't even thought how strange this would look, him showing up dirty and disheveled with no explanation whatsoever. In the back of his mind he'd been assuming Thomas would take one look at him and be overcome with desire, and that he'd sweep Jimmy into an embrace and confess his love— or— or something. Perhaps he'd even tell Jimmy he were better looking than all those workmen combined while he were at it, and then…

Perhaps Jimmy had an over-inflated estimation of his own intelligence. And attractiveness.

Jimmy felt very pale, suddenly.

"Jimmy?" Thomas looked thoroughly alarmed now.

Thinking quickly Jimmy blurted out "I'm dandy! I just— I just had me a stroll in the forest, that's all."

"A _stroll?_"

"Yes, a stroll." Jimmy insisted, trying not to panic. Oh, why couldn't he think of a decent lie?

Thomas stared at him. "Then why do you look like you've been wrestling a bear like bloody Buffalo Bill? You're filthy—"

Jimmy flushed and wished, fervently, that he were dead. "I—I got lost. And I tripped— fell down a ravine."

Thomas couldn't look more incredulous than if a heard of elephants had appeared on the lawn wearing tutus. "How far away did you go? Are sure you're alright?"

Jimmy nodded wildly, frantic for the conversation to end. He didn't want Thomas reading him on this. "I'm fine. Jolly good."

_Jolly good?_ Oh Christ, he sounded like his grandfather! He had to get away before he said anything else.

"Eh, I just need to wash and change, now— I'm fine. Fine and dandy."

"But—"

Stumbling a little, Jimmy fled.

* * *

After a day and night spent in the fiery grip of profound mortification, Jimmy resolved that next time— for there would be a next time and no mistake— he would get it right. So the following day he did nothing but plan while he worked, thinking carefully through his ideas to their conclusion, looking for weak points and fixing them accordingly.

By the end of the day he felt he had it sorted, with many a lie constructed and available.

The trouble came down to the fact that he, as first footman, had little chance of doing hard physical labor, especially not in the outdoors. But there was one such duty he could still perform in front of Thomas— one that would allow him to be suitably manly— if he made an effort.

Since most of the family were in London while the gardens were being finished, many of the servants' everyday duties were lightened or in some cases, nonexistent. Of course that didn't stop Thomas (acting in the place of Mr. Carson) from finding them extra duties to perform if he found them too idle. But even though Thomas could be a benevolent leader or a hard taskmaster, depending on his mood, the family's absence still meant Jimmy's mornings were freer than they'd been in a long time. Which was good.

Jimmy planned to use his spare time very wisely.

He got up before the sun rose and cornered the biggest, dullest hallboy— Jimmy couldn't recall his name— and paid him a handful of his card winnings to pretend to be ill for the day. Reluctantly the boy agreed, though he looked at Jimmy as if he were mad.

With that done Jimmy pounced on the other two boys, and told them he had some spare time this morning and that he'd like to use it to help them out. After all, weren't they meant to reorganize and refurbish the music room and library, today?

"But Mr. Kent," one of the boys protested timidly. "Even with Robin ill we won't need your help for that, sir. We can manage, or the maids can help."

Jimmy swallowed his temper and forced a kind expression. "Oh, but I don't mind. The work will go so much faster with three people instead of two."

The boys shrugged, exchanging glances when they thought Jimmy couldn't see them. They had always been rather in awe of him, Jimmy thought.

Thomas, however, was even more confused and suspicious than the hall boys, when Jimmy came to request the extra work (he made sure to include how eager the hallboys were for his help).

"_You_ want to help the hall boys move furniture?" Thomas asked in disbelief. "If they can't manage it on their own I'd ask Molesley, if anyone. You're first footman— there's no need."

This was true. Under any other circumstances Jimmy would think it far beneath him to assist the hall boys with anything, let alone help them with grunt work when he could be lounging in the servants' hall reading magazines or playing piano. But this were the only way he could think of to display his manliness to Thomas. And he knew Thomas would be overseeing the room. No better opportunity could have arisen had Jimmy planned it himself.

"I'm stronger than Molesley," Jimmy lied, bouncing on his toes and trying not to think of the strong arm game at the church bazaar. "And I'll be dead bored without you to talk to anyhow, so I might as well do something useful."

Thomas looked torn between amusement and suspicion. Again Jimmy feared his friend somehow knew what he were thinking. But in the end Thomas agreed.

And it started out splendidly, Jimmy thought. He could feel Thomas's eyes on him as he helped the boys replace couches and chairs, carry the harp to the other side of the room, and roll up the giant carpet to replace it with another.

Surely Thomas was admiring him the same way he'd admired the workers.

Eventually Jimmy muttered that it were awful hot, and he slipped off his jacket. Carson would've had a fit to see him do it, absent Crawleys or not— Thomas, however, did not protest his breach of conduct. Jimmy dipped his head to hide his grin, though he couldn't help but cast a warm look up at Thomas before he did.

_Yes, keep your eyes on me, Mr. Barrow._

Then it came time to move the piano, by far the heaviest object in the room. Jimmy was excited by the display of attractive strength this presented. He made sure to subtly elbow one of the hallboys out of the way so he could take the side of the piano closest to Mr. Barrow. As they lifted the instrument together, Jimmy couldn't help but cast another glance over his shoulder to see if Thomas were looking at his arms or his bum this time— but it was a mistake to do so. When he turned he wrenched a muscle in his back, making him curse and let go of the piano accidentally. The wood slid out of his hands, scraping them in the process, and he stumbled backwards and fell in an ungainly heap on the new rug. The piano crashed to the floor at the same time, making a noise like thunder as all the keys sounded at once.

"Jimmy!"

"Blimey, are you alright, Mr. Kent?"

Jimmy's cheeks flamed. He hated the entire world.

* * *

Thomas bandaged his hands, afterwards. Of course he did; for all his imperious ways he was so very kind, really. And he was such a good friend to Jimmy, even when Jimmy didn't deserve it.

Jimmy loved him something _awful_.

Despite the drama of his injury Jimmy's cuts were only superficial scrapes. Still, they burned like hot coals when Thomas poured a cleansing solution over them. Jimmy would have complained at the pain had it been any other day, but he swallowed his curses this time. He didn't want to appear any less manly than he already did. He couldn't stop his eyes from watering, though, his jaw clenched stoically shut so no sound escaped him.

"You've been acting strange, Jimmy," Thomas observed softly, flicking a glance up at him as he tenderly wrapped Jimmy's fingers in gauze. "Is anything… on your mind?"

Jimmy felt Thomas's touch through his whole body, felt the weight of his eyes on him— and desperately wanted to fall into the other man's arms and confess everything, and pray he loved him still. But fear choked him, and he pressed his lips together and shook his head.

And that were that.

* * *

This period of humiliation lasted longer than the first, but with Thomas's unchanging friendship he eventually recovered— and so did his back, neck, and hands.

His ego, however, would need more time. A lifetime, maybe.

In the end Jimmy decided the music room plan, too, had been doomed to failure. For one thing, even if he'd moved Thomas to passion, he couldn't very well have done anything about it upstairs in front of two hallboys— and knowing Thomas he would have convinced himself not to do anything about it given time to reflect.

So. Moving furniture might have been a likely idea, but not anywhere public. They needed to be alone.

That's when Jimmy came up with his third plan.

He was more patient this time. He waited for a hot day, hot enough that the men's quarters were sweltering and airless.

Jimmy asked Thomas over lunch if he might help him rearrange the furniture in his room that evening. He claimed he needed his bed to be nearer the window to feel the breeze at night, and that the rest of it would need to be moved as well.

"Are you sure you should be moving furniture again so soon? You've only just recovered from the last time." Thomas's tone was faintly teasing.

Jimmy flushed and tried to cover his reaction with a smirk. "I'm perfectly alright now," he sniffed. "Besides, if I'm not that's why I'm asking you to help. You're strong."

A little flattery couldn't hurt, Jimmy decided. And it were true anyhow.

Thomas seemed pleased by the compliment, and he agreed.

* * *

Before Thomas arrived in his room that evening, Jimmy decided to give up any pretense of shame. Or subtlety.

Seduction wasn't about subtlety anyhow.

He took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and unbuttoned his shirt. He let his braces fall around his waist, too, as if he were preparing to undress completely. Then he ran his fingers through his hair a few times, taking care to muss it so it fell attractively over his brow.

Looking in the mirror, he decided the effect was good. He looked almost shockingly indecent half-dressed and unkempt, and the untidiness was reminiscent of the "rough and tumble" workmen that Thomas so admired— yet it was still undeniably him. And once upon a time Thomas had been so enamored with him that he'd kissed Jimmy in his sleep. Surely it couldn't be so difficult to tempt him to that breaking point again? Alone in Jimmy's room at night, it gave him the perfect opportunity.

There was a soft knock at the door. Jimmy crossed the room on shaky legs to open it.

As soon as he saw Thomas standing there in his shirtsleeves he felt his own body react. Thomas's eyes flared briefly at the sight of Jimmy half-dressed, but Jimmy couldn't tell if it was with desire, or simply surprise at his untidy state.

"Ah, still need help, then?"

"O'course," Jimmy managed. He shuffled back and waved Thomas inside, shutting the door firmly behind him and leaning against it for a moment. He had to steady his pulse before it ran away from him.

"Alright, so: how do you want it?" Thomas asked.

Jimmy looked at Thomas blankly, his mouth dry. Then he realized Thomas meant the furniture.

Together they rearranged the bed and the nightstand and even the wardrobe, and Jimmy was sweating and flexing and half-dressed throughout— and they were alone together and the room were hot and dimly lit and Jimmy brushed against Thomas while they worked and still, still Thomas didn't didn't do anything.

In fact he seemed quite his usual self— utterly cool and composed even in this unbearable, oppressive heat. Focused on the task at hand.

If anyone were close to breaking here it were Jimmy himself.

Watching Thomas in nothing but his shirtsleeves, his dark hair falling into his eyes, his movements graceful and strong as he worked— Jimmy finally understood with absolute clarity the appeal of a man doing hard labor, of a bit of rough and tumble. So late at night Thomas's beard had grown in just a little, and Jimmy were haunted by the desire to feel it against his own skin.

"This alright?" Thomas asked, finally. He shoved the wardrobe tighter to the wall and ran his hands through his damp hair, surveying the work they'd done.

Even his sodding_ fingers_ and _wrists_ were beautiful, Jimmy thought in despair. But he couldn't say it, couldn't speak, so he nodded mutely instead.

"Good," Thomas flicked another glance at him, darting up and down. With a twist in his belly Jimmy realized Thomas had avoided looking at him directly since they'd started working. Perhaps he wasn't as unaffected as he seemed? Jimmy's already scattered pulse tripped over itself in desperate hope.

"Well, goodnight then, Jimmy." Thomas smiled fleetingly and turned to go.

"Goodnight? Wait!" Without thinking Jimmy darted forward and took Thomas's hand in his and—

—turned it into a bloody handshake.

"Thank you, Thomas."

Thomas licked his lips. "Ah— you're welcome."

Jimmy stared at his mouth. Kiss me, Thomas._ Touch me, please. If I know then I can have you, just show me something, do something so I know._

But Thomas didn't. Instead he squeezed Jimmy's fingers in return before releasing them swiftly, and then he was out in the hall and closing Jimmy's door behind him.

* * *

Jimmy spent the next week in an agony of confusion and indecision.

On the one hand, all his plans had failed. He still didn't know if Thomas wanted him. On the other… Thomas had stopped looking at the workmen altogether, even the smiley-handsome one who was always flirting with him. Instead he seemed distracted and irritated, twitchy with tension and quick to anger. Jimmy felt much the same way, as if his skin were over-sensitive and the world too full of sharp edges. It had to mean something.

But if it did, why couldn't Thomas be bloody_ seduced_?

Jimmy got no sleep for wondering.

Eventually the workmen finished their contract and left Downton on Jimmy's next half-day.

With the threat of the handsome laborer gone, Jimmy was immensely relieved— but he also knew it were only a matter of time before another man came along, and another, and another, until eventually one of them would succeed in stealing Thomas away.

Jimmy got even less sleep than before, thinking of that.

* * *

The night before the Crawleys' return, Jimmy invited Thomas to his room again.

"The new arrangement's not suiting me," he said thinly, sure Thomas could see right through him. "I think I need to move me things round again."

Thomas paused with his tea half way to his mouth, a line appearing on his brow as he looked at Jimmy. Irrationally Jimmy wondered if Thomas were thinking how best to put him off.

"Could you help me?" Jimmy asked, clenching his hands behind his back to hide their trembling. "Please?"

Thomas stared at him, hesitated for what seemed like a year, before finally he said, "Alright."

* * *

Jimmy felt sick by the time darkness fell, as if he were on his way to his own execution. If he hadn't already emptied his secret stash of wine he would have drank it in preparation— which would have been a bad idea, he knew. So he waited for Thomas in his room, horribly, stone-cold sober, his clothes and hair neatly put together this time. No more seduction games, he decided.

It was time to be brave and take a chance, no matter how much it went against his nature. In any case he couldn't take any more of this… not knowing. This not having Thomas completely.

Thomas knocked on his door as promised, and Jimmy let him in. Thomas greeted him with a little smile and Jimmy's stomach flipped, longing and want tangling up inside him so he could not speak.

He'd had a small speech prepared, but since his voice had deserted him in the eleventh hour he had to let his actions speak for him.

"So, how do you want it—"

Jimmy seized Thomas's jacket, pushed him into the wall, and kissed him soundly on the lips.

Thomas's mouth was soft with surprise for a heart-stopping moment, and then he was kissing Jimmy back, warm and tentative, and it was perfect.

When he found the strength to pull away, he found Thomas staring at him, a red flush blooming under his skin.

"…Jimmy?"

Jimmy nodded at the unspoken question, tightening his grip in Thomas's hair, which he could not remember reaching for.

Thomas sucked in a deep breath and leaned forward, gently taking Jimmy's face in both hands. Their eyes met, and Thomas asked the question again without speaking and Jimmy said yes and then Thomas was kissing him again, deeper and sweeter than before.

_Thomas, I love you so._

Eventually Thomas drew back, and Jimmy swayed where he stood.

"Jimmy," Thomas asked. "Is this what you've been doing all those mad things for?"

Jimmy was flying too high for embarrassment to reach him, and it made him honest. "I were trying to seduce you," he confessed. "Make you— make you do something about it. Make you break and come to me, or show some sign. But you wouldn't no matter what I did, so I had to do it."

Thomas stared at him incredulously, as if he wanted to laugh or rage but couldn't decide which. "Why would you ever doubt I still…? And _you_ wanted _me_ to be the one to—"

Jimmy nodded again, biting his lip and tasting Thomas on it.

"You were always looking at those damn workmen," Jimmy accused sullenly. "Lingering out of doors— and that one were always looking at you, smiling and waving and making calf's eyes, always trying to chat. I hated it, Thomas. I hated him."

"…You were… jealous?"

"Yes." Jimmy admitted, feeling immense relief at the admission and only a little foolish.

"You know he were looking at you, not me, right?"

Jimmy snorted. "How d'you mean? He were always staring at you. And he'd_ wave_ and tip his bloody _cap_ and say—"

Thomas scoffed and shook his head. "Yes he did— at _you_. You were with me every time he did that, weren't you? He didn't do it for me when I were alone. He weren't interested in me. Well, maybe a little—"

"Ah, there it is, I knew—"

"But," Thomas insisted. "About a week into the work he asked me about you. Nothing explicit, nothing a ladies' man would have noticed or understood, but I took his meaning: he wanted to know if you were interested in having some fun with him. I warned him off. Then later he tried to have it off with me— settling for what he could get, I think— but I didn't fancy it and turned him down. He were still hoping for you, I think, but too frightened of me to approach you himself. He was a bit thick, I think. Had good taste though." Thomas's mouth quirked up in one corner.

Jimmy didn't know what to think of this account. Surely Thomas were having him on, or something, but—

"So why did you look at him, then?" Jimmy demanded, remembering Thomas's narrow glances and lingering presence out of doors.

Thomas shrugged. "He— and the others, too— were nice to look at."

When Jimmy's expression soured again Thomas laughed. "But not only that: after that one asked me about you I didn't like him much. Had keep an eye out. Have a better view indoors anyhow."

Jimmy was soothed by this answer, and he dropped his eyes back to Thomas's mouth. Perhaps this conversation should end now so they could return to kissing.

Thomas seemed to read his mind— as he often did— and bent to kiss him, more passionately than before. Jimmy felt weak, and terribly aroused by the end of it. Not that he hadn't been already.

And then Thomas pulled away suddenly and said, "But I still don't understand how you thought that nonsense with the woods and the furniture would get me to— and anyway no matter what you did,_ I_ had to be the one to wait for _you_ to do something—"

Jimmy stopped him with a kiss, because he really could do nothing else in that moment. Thomas pulled him tight against him in return and kissed him back just as fiercely. Jimmy felt his insides light up like a fireworks display.

_Worked out well for me in the end though didn't it, Thomas. After a fashion,_ Jimmy thought.

Because it really, really had.

_~The End~_


End file.
